


Damage

by Hankenstein



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Biotics, Bondage, Breathplay, Dominance, F/F, Ignored Safeword, Mind Games, Strap-Ons, Submission, jack is just a really bad domme in all the ways that you can be a bad domme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hankenstein/pseuds/Hankenstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Miranda have an arrangement that stops them from killing each other. Whether or not it's healthier is hard to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damage

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly PWP (porn without plot) but pretty intense/dark power play. It got away from me a little. Please check tags before proceeding, stay happy and safe. X

The door to Miranda’s office slid open to reveal Subject Zero, the failed Cerberus experiment, blue crackling over her skin and a thundercloud, as per usual, in her eyes. 

Miranda calmly took her hands from her interface, and leant back, eyes level and challenging. Jack strode across the small office. She reached the seated woman, twisting one hand roughly into Miranda’s dark hair, pulling her straight up in the chair and crushing their lips together, Miranda’s head closing the circuit between Jack’s hand and mouth, causing her hair to puff with static.

Jack practically shoved her tongue in Miranda’s mouth, bit her lip, hand in her hair tightening. Miranda relaxed and melted into the grip, allowing her body to be pulled upwards and into the strength of Jack’s hand, ass almost lifting off the seat. 

Jack broke the kiss, straightening up. She was breathing heavily through her nose, mouth twisted.

“So.” Miranda looked up into Jack’s stormy eyes. “That’s how it is.”

“That’s how it is.” She concurred.

Jack released her grip on the thick hair, stepping back, and Miranda smoothed it, attempting to look dignified despite her ruffled mane and bitten lips, heart racing as she popped her omni tool, locking the door. 

“EDI?”

“Yes, Operative Lawson?”

“Cease regular recording protocols. Away from my desk and privacy lock for the next … hour?” She glanced at Jack, who nodded curtly. 

“Initiate Safeguard Op too, if you would please, EDI.” Her calm voice betrayed nothing of her steadily increasing heart rate. 

“It is done, Operative Lawson.” It had been part of their… arrangement. Miranda was relatively certain that Jack no longer wanted to kill her, but despite the raw excitement building in her body, she was a cautious woman. Safeguard protocols ceased all AV recordings but monitored heart rate, respiratory systems and biotic energy in her cabin. If anyone stopped breathing, heart rate dropped dangerously, or if biotic output reached an upper limit, EDI would unlock the door and inform Shepard, taking essential stop-gap life support measures. This threat seemed to keep Jack under control by a hair. Like some strange rule of the wild, Jack was viciously loyal to Shepard, perhaps by virtue of the fact that she was the one person on board who could put Jack down if need be. 

“Jumpsuit off, Subject Zero?” Miranda asked as she stood, hands already lifting to the zipper. 

Jack grabbed one slim shoulder, and slapped her across the face, hard. “Don’t call me that!” she snapped. The blow left a stinging mark on one pale cheek, but had been unenhanced by weight or biotics. Miranda's skin was already returning to normal. 

Jack pulled a breath in through her nose. “No, leave it on. There’s only one part of you I’m interested in right now, anyway.” She reached up, unzipping a bare few centimetres of the suit, digging her fingers into the neckline, nails scratching against Miranda’s skin as she gripped the material and bra beneath it, tugging it down to bare the soft swell of Miranda’s breasts. Jack didn’t rip the suit simply because the last time she attempted so was disastrous; not only did the reinforced material resist her efforts but it caused Miranda to lash out with an instinctive biotic blast, abruptly ending the session. The message was loud and clear; Miranda’s body was fair game. The suit was not. 

The bunched material was cutting into the sensitive underside of her breasts, but Miranda relished the sensation, standing attentively, eyes still bold on Jack’s face. Her mouth tightened as Jack pinched both nipples sharply, bringing them to taut attention, but barely a whimper passed her lips. This was part of it, the push and pull. She took the punishment Jack handed out, all cracking, snapping rage. Miranda was stoic and quiet, because she wanted it, in a way. She deserved it. 

Jack’s hand easily found its place again, firmly entwined in Miranda’s hair as she dragged the taller woman over to the bed. Miranda went limp and pliable in Jack’s grip, following obediently, air cold on her bare tits. 

“Sit.” Jack pushed her down on the bed, turning her back on Miranda, unclipping her body harness and flinging it to the side. The blue light on Jacks torso had died to bare shimmer, and Miranda admired the play of lean muscles under ink as Jack moved to fish the strap-on from Miranda’s side table. 

It was black, rigid yet just pliable enough, its surface smooth with the tiniest velvety friction; Miranda knew from experience. Jack integrated it with smooth ease, the base connecting to the confusion of straps already around her waist with a clicking noise. She squeezed the base and sighed, head tilting back as the neural uplink came online, transmitting sensation, stimulating and creating pathways for an appendage she did not possess. Miranda licked full lips. She knew what came next. 

“You want this?” Jack challenged contemptuously. 

“Yes.” Miranda breathed, hands inching to her crotch as she watched with avid eyes.

“Hey,” Jack reached and slapped her hand back down to the bed. “You think I give a shit about your cunt, princess?” A pair of omni cuffs were pulled from Jack's pocket, and she deftly cuffed Miranda’s hands behind her back, leaving her chest thrust forward as she perched on the end of the bed. Jack yanked on them, testing the hold, jarring Miranda’s shoulders, but she could take it. It was nothing, she told herself, compared to what Jack had been through. 

It felt good to have Jack’s torn nails gripping into the flesh of her jutting breasts, humming with biotic warmth, then tangling in her mussed hair, jerking her head forward. It felt… just.

“Better.” Jack spat, shoving the head of her cock past Miranda’s lips, rough and callous. 

The first unintentional vocalization burst from Miranda, muffled noises of protest that Jack disregarded as she fucked into Miranda’s mouth. She couldn't use her hands able to control depth, so she pushed back lightly against Jack’s hand, attempting fruitlessly to stop the strap-on from hitting the back of her throat, making her eyes water. 

“Mmf-mm!” Miranda’s mouth was slick, warm, and the sensation punched straight into Jack’s brain, implants useful for more than just destruction. She was letting her hand tug on Miranda’s hair, secretly envious of the older woman, pulling Miranda’s mouth into each thrust.

The weight of her tits against the restricting fabric was starting to ache, the motion of each thrust rubbing and pinching. Her cunt was starting to feel heavy and hot through the fabric of her suit. She shut her eyes, blocking it out, focusing on the smooth slide of the strap-on, in her mouth, against her tongue, her throat.

“Open your eyes, bitch.” Jack panted. “I want you to watch me come from fucking, your, mouth.” Miranda obeyed the command, eyes watering, feeling her mouth full and used. Secretly she liked to see Jack like this, panting, cheeks flushing, awash in the sensation that she _took_ from Miranda, even as it was freely given.

"Yes that's a good, little, cheerleader." Evidentially Jack was feeling chatty tonight. "Do you think you're doing good work? Do you think someone should pay attention to your cunt? Do you think there's, ah, _a chance in hell_ , that someone is going to be me?"

Miranda couldn't talk as Jack continued to fuck her mouth, but gasped the best noises of assent that she could around the strap-on.

Jack slid one hand down to cup Miranda's neck, pulling her as far forward as her mouth would go, pressing the cock uncomfortably into Miranda's throat. Jack leant over Miranda's back to release the cuffs. Her hands sprang apart, immediately finding purchase in Jack's narrow hips, pushing back, resisting the thrusts into her mouth. 

Jack took a step back. "Knees." She ordered curtly. Miranda was grateful she still wore her high boots as she sank to her knees on the cold metal floor, eyes warily on the woman standing over her. Jack ran her hands over the small peaks of her breasts, tugging slightly on her own nipples, hands then sliding down to rest on her own hips, seeming to enjoy Miranda's regard. 

"Keep your hands off me. If you want to come, get to it." Jack trailed soft fingers over slim collarbones, down the slope of Miranda’s breasts, flicking lightly at her nipples. Chills radiated out from the touch.

“Off you go.” Jack said softly, stepping back. 

Miranda, arms now free, went to rub firm fingers into her clit over the material of her suit. Her cunt was throbbing, desperate for attention, and Miranda grunted a noise of frustration when she realised that touching herself over two layers of cloth wasn't going to be enough. 

She growled, and pinched her thumb, index and middle finger together. Pulling them apart sharply, a triangle shaped field appeared between them with crackling noise. The field hummed and vibrated, and Miranda hurried to jam her thumb, the narrowest point of the field, against her clit, the wider part covering her lips, thrumming hot sensations over her whole cunt. 

It was actually two fields overlaid a hair apart, a mass increasing and a mass decreasing field, the inherent conflict between the two creating a rippling, vibrating sensation, especially as she passed it over the fabric and her lips. It was a difficult technique and required tight, precision control. Most people couldn't do it. 

But, well, Miranda was not most people.

She moaned at the sensation, gasping on her knees as Jack watched intently, inscrutably. She was moving back and forth between running her hands over the strap-on, feeling the tingles in the base of her skull, and grinding the base of the cock back into her clit, feeling the ripples lower and tighter in her belly, between her legs. 

Miranda choked out a desperate sounding sob, grinding into her own hand, face flushed, nipples tight, racing up to her own orgasm.

Jack watched. She knew this scene all too well, and judging it perfectly, waited for Miranda's eyes to flutter shut, her mouth opening in long, whining moan as she came. Curling firm fingers around the base of the cock, Jack slid the head of it insolently against Miranda's full lower lip as she gasped, shoving her cock into Miranda's open mouth, resuming her rough pace from before, stomach tight with the movement of thrusting into Miranda's gasping mouth, feeling the growing tension in her skull from the warm, firm sensation.

Jack came with a growling noise, pushing Miranda’s mouth so far down the cock she gagged briefly, panic flaring as her air was cut off. She could see nothing but the swirl of patterns in the blue light over Jacks abdomen, her own orgasm still ringing in her ears. The swirling intensified as she struggled for breath, refusing the eddying power growing in her cranium, rejecting resistance out of hand. 

That was the challenge of it, the unspoken rule. If Miranda bought her full biotic power to bear now, it wouldn’t be fucking anymore, it would be war. They’d tried that once. They nearly didn’t make it out, and they’d endangered the Normandy too. This was… better. Safer. As the blue swirls started to mix with bright lights and stars from lack of air, Jack released her, skating the limits of what would trigger EDI’s safety switch, and from the smug twitch in her lip, she _knew it_ , too. 

Stepping back, cock slick from Miranda’s mouth, Jack lowered her face to Miranda’s. She cupped the bound woman’s cheek, almost tenderly catching the slick on her lips, thumb rubbing across Miranda’s jaw. “Mm. Are you ok?” she asked, but her voice was mocking. Miranda knew better than to answer. 

Jack’s mannerisms were different after the first orgasm, more slow and languid rather than the snapping intensity she’d entered the room with. She turned her back again, starting to disengage the strap-on, unbuckle her trousers. “Now, strip.” She ordered Miranda lazily, rolling her neck. 

Miranda did so efficiently but not hurriedly, unzipping and stepping out of her boots, peeling of the suit and laying it over a chair. She waited naked in front of her bed, feeling cold and exposed, air on her sensitized cunt almost painful. Fields were a hurried, rough way to achieve her orgasm, and she always felt raw afterwards. But Jack never gave her much time. 

She briefly debated asking EDI to turn the heat up; the AI would respond instantly to the sound of her name or the word “safeguard,” but she couldn’t. Though EDI had no interest, sexual or otherwise, in the goings on between the two women, Miranda burned with shame at the idea of EDI “seeing” her like this, hair a complete wreck from being pulled with reckless inconsideration, eyes damp, mouth abused. 

Jack paced a few thoughtful steps in front of Miranda, watching her with narrowed, scrutinizing eyes. Jack looked like a different woman naked. The ink continued down her legs in a chaotic sprawl, but there was no denying she looked smaller, a diminished creature without her pants and boots. She knew it too, and always seemed twice as aggressive when she was naked, as though to compensate for it. 

In their bare feet, there was only a few scant centimeters difference in height. Jack stared into Miranda’s face, reaching up to gently smooth her hands through Miranda’s hair, tugging her mouth down for a kiss that was deep but not rough. Miranda hummed in appreciation into Jack’s mouth. She was tense, on edge. This sweeter treatment never lasted long, so she relished the feel of Jack’s full, soft mouth on hers while she could.

Miranda felt woozy. True to her prediction she sensed the air still and deaden as Jack gathered power, and smashed biotically into Miranda’s bare form, smacking her brutally down on the bed. 

Miranda gasped from the force of it, but was uncowed. Instinctively, she went to counter Jack’s play, _needing_ to show it was nothing. “You know the Commander hates it when biotics waste their strength on the ship,” she said breathlessly.

Suddenly Jack was on her, seemingly everywhere, wiry legs straddling her, hands in an electric scratch down Miranda’s arms, a sharp bite on her throat, tiny bruises raising and fading instantly, hands squeezing harshly into both breasts , breathing rough and growling in Jack’s throat as she sat up straight, punctuating her words, “I, don’t, care,” with three sharp slaps, left breast, right breast, and finally an openhanded blow to Miranda’s right cheek, leaving her stunned and overwhelmed by the assault. There was a line looming somewhere close, and Miranda had the distant thought that Jack might be about to cross it. 

Miranda’s scalp stung as Jack grabbed at the hair on her crown. Jack hissed, “I don’t give a _shit_ about what you don’t like, what Shepard doesn't like.” Her eyes were wild, and Miranda began to feel the first stirrings of genuine fear, pinned here under the smaller woman working herself into a frenzy.

There was an audible POP and a ripple of intense light flowed over Jack’s cheek as she hauled Miranda’s face up close to hers. “I am _sick_ of everyone here, on this ship, Cerberus, thinking just because I came when I was called that I'm some kind of fucking _attack_ dog, some trained bitch who does whatever Shepard wants and I-“ she choked, incoherent, and that line Miranda had been pondering was suddenly sharp and clear and _right there._

Jack pulled back her right hand. For Miranda, time seemed to grow heavy as she watched the open palm curl into a fist, the blue energy trailing after Jack’s fingers burning after-images into her eyes. Terror of that curled fist punched through Miranda’s gut, spurring her to action. Her own biotics surged, a field flaring over her raised hand as she caught Jack’s energy-shrouded fist.

“Jack!” she said fruitlessly, struggling to push the other woman off her, suddenly desperately aware that when it came to brute strength, Jack had the upper hand. 

“Safeg-“

“ _NO_.”

Miranda wheezed as a field bloomed over her chest, crushing air out of her lungs. Jack placed a splayed hand over the field, teeth gritted as she bore down. Miranda bucked against it, arms pinned by the breadth of the field, eyes wild.

Jack’s eyes were empty pools of fury. She’d gone somewhere else entirely, Miranda could see. Her struggles weren’t bringing Jack back, and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t drag a single sip of air back into her struggling lungs and in the quiet moments afterwards, Miranda admitted the only thing saving her from cracked ribs was the slight yield of the mattress below her. 

_Biotics_ , Miranda screamed at herself, vision of Jack’s bared teeth and inked shoulders starting to melt into a haze. _Fuck get a fucking field out, you useless bitch_. Miranda screamed at herself , but she couldn't lift her hands, couldn't trigger the sequence needed in her brain to activate her biotics, and it was all started to fade into an insistent pale fog anyway. Even the grinding, desperate noise she realised was coming from her own throat started to fade. 

“Operative Lawson, do you require assistance?” At the sound of EDI’s voice, Jack jerked away, fields dissipating with a whiff of eezo. Miranda coughed, an ugly, hacking sound, hauling air into desperate lungs.

“I detected a low respiratory rate and-“ 

“It’s cool EDI. I’m cool.” Jack leapt off the bed, hands up in supplication, breathing hard. “Check the sigs, everything’s fine, I’m over it, I’m cool, we’re cool, aren’t we, _Operative Lawson_?”

Miranda slowly sat up, still working through what just happened. “We’re… cool, EDI. Thank you,” she rasped through her winded lungs.

They stared at each other across the grey cabin, moment taut. 

“Very well.” EDI said, though she sounded as hesitant as Miranda had ever heard her. “Logging out.”

Jack actually laughed, a high, nervy sound. “Hah! That was… that was really fucking something, wasn't it.” She was pacing again.

“Yeah.” Miranda agreed, rubbing her knuckles slowly into her aching sternum. “It was.”

“Ok. Ok.” Jack’s repeated quietly. To herself? To Miranda? She couldn’t tell. Jack’s eyes were bright, colour high, and Miranda didn’t delude herself; aching ribs aside, the adrenal dump had been… incredible. The orgasm had been one thing, but skating so close to the edge was exhilarating. She ran tentative fingers over the covers on her bed, grounded herself back into the sensation, because for a moment there, she'd been flying.

There was an edge of wounded pride playing in the corners of her mind, too. She’d tapped out, tried to stop. Jack hadn't let her. She’d been weak and she wouldn't do it again.

“Right.” Jack looked at Miranda, red faced, breathing slowly returning to normal, and without a single word of comfort, she said flatly. “Alright. I’m done here.”

Jack picked up her clothes, dressed and left quickly, barely able to look at Miranda's sprawled form. She'd hide in the hold for a few days, eating at odd hours, keeping strictly to Shepard's one-deck distance rule before something in her bent and cracked, and she'd be knocking at Miranda's door again soon. Would Miranda let the other woman in? 

Her money was on yes. And she was rarely wrong. 

She lay back, limbs spread eagled on the bed, and stared blankly into the ceiling. She smelt her own fear, her sweat and sex. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there when EDI's voice interrupted the reverie. 

"Ms Lawson? Miranda?"

"Yes EDI. I'm ok. Thank you." Miranda heard her own voice distantly. 

"Ms Lawson, I do not think... I do not think that when Commander Shepard told you and Jack to "work your shit out," that this was exactly what she had in mind."

Miranda gritted her teeth against the hysterical laugh that threatened to burst out of her. How did it come to this, she wondered. "You know what, EDI? It sure wasn't."


End file.
